Myths

They’re appealing, enticing and widely known. The ease to believe, and not so much pressure, is the underlying sheet for a blanket of self-doubt and questioning.

A social phenomenon often characterized as truth, has lead me down a path of destruction from time to time. Placing my faith in the hands of a false pretense for uncertainty and blindness.

The beauty in debuffing myths, is exposing the hollow shell of power her and I fell for. Exposing the truth and gaining back a sense of control I felt completely undeserving of.

But to play devil’s advocate, there is a beastly side to the cleaning a bed made in self-doubt. The myths grip control over my rituals. And in turn, rituals become power fueled by a monster for power.

If you don’t make your bed, this monster under your bed binds their grips to the frame, shaking me, unable to fall asleep, unable to find peace.

It isn’t until I stray from a structure, bearing the discomfort of a few sleepless nights, that I’ll find a new strength in falsifying myths.

Monsters hide under our beds. They hide in the shadows of our favorite black dress. They reflect back in the rearview mirror of my little Volkswagen convertible, Lola. But, at some point, I will have a confidence to look back and say enough, your myth has no place here.